


Black and White On A Grayish Sky

by SkeetYeetYote



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkeetYeetYote/pseuds/SkeetYeetYote
Summary: Dr. Manhattan did not kill Rorschach. Instead, for reasons known only to him, he transported Rorschach to another place, another time. Now an injured Rorschach must get his bearings on this strange world, figure out how to return home, and dispose of plenty of scum along the way. He also might just run into a certain young spider-themed hero...
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	1. Rorschach

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N: This takes place in an amalgamation of the MCU, Marvel Comics, and my own headcannon/interpretation. Pretty much all my favorite aspects of both the movies and comics. There will be some discontinuities if you try to compare it exactly to the films/comics. E.G., Tony Stark is alive, but MJ knows Peter is Spider-Man. Also I can’t be bothered to keep to the comics all the time; there are so many and it’s quite confusing. Finally, this is my first big fic (that I’ve published) and my first published work on AO3. It’s also not finished… but enough of it’s done that I’ll be able to publish maybe a chapter a week for a few months. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Please comment if you like/dislike anything. I’d appreciate it.

“Do it…”

Manhattan tilted his head. His eyes were blank and cold.

“What are you waiting for? Do it!”

He waved his hand, and blue light engulfed Rorschach. He felt his coat, his scarf, his hat, shifting on his body, and then his body began to shift and warp, and then he felt himself tear apart until every atom, every fiber, was severed… and there was nothing for a moment.

Then another flash of blue light, and he fell a few feet from the air onto a hardwood floor. Pain shot up his ankle, which he suspected was now fractured and not just twisted. He whipped his head around the room. He was in an apartment. Dark, silent, and the front door was locked. He grabbed a pair of scissors from a mug full of pencils and pens and stalked through the apartment.

Kitchen, living room – a window, his exit --, bedroom, bathroom… nothing but a few roaches and a dead rat in the corner. So the owner was not home. Something strange that he noticed on the bed though was a silver, tablet-shaped thing with various wires running into it. It had the shape of an apple engraved on it. Rorschach gingerly lifted it up and realized that it opened like a book. The black screen gave way to a glowing image of a car with blue and orange flames trailing from it, illuminating Rorschach’s face. He read 10:43 P.M. in blocky white letters. The date was… odd. Said it was June instead of November. The other side of it looked like a keyboard, only the keys were very thin and the letters glowed white. He snapped it shut and stuffed the scissors into the inside pocket of his coat.

Why was he not dead? Why did Manhattan spare him? Why was it June? Was he somehow sent back or forward in time by a few months? But why? Did Manhattan want to toy with him, or teach him some sort of asinine lesson? Rorschach’s stomach growled. He felt around his pockets – two quarters, a moldy penny, a sugar cube, and some lockpicks.

He paused at the kitchen door. No. Whoever owned this apartment was not a friend, and as far as he knew, not a criminal, and he was not a thief. He opened the window and ducked out. It proved rather difficult to scale down the wall with an injured ankle without a fire escape. He managed to keep his grip until a few feet from the ground. Again as he landed pain shot from his ankle up his shin. He growled and stuck his hands in his pockets. He clearly was in New York, but something was off… for one, he heard only a few sirens in the far distance, and the few people walking by the alley he stood in acted perfectly calm and content. Have they not heard of Veidt’s monster? Did they not know that millions were dead?

He popped the sugar cube in his mouth and absently chewed on it. He heard a ruckus coming from the left of his alley, and sure enough a large group of young people tromped by. The males wore their hair long and their pants well below their waists. The females hardly wore anything, and what little they did wear was tight. They had makeup caked on their faces, like clowns, and their shiny heels clacked on the sidewalk like spiders scuttling on the floor. They were so young… it was disgusting. Their liberal hippie fathers and whorish mothers probably had them dress like that. And they were too stupid and weak-willed to break from their parents’ ways.

He waited for the group to pass before he set after them. He needed some answers. They walked rather slowly, so he was able to catch up to them easily despite his injury. He trailed right behind them for some time, but they did not turn back. He cleared his throat. Nothing. Strange. When he wore his mask no one noticed him. But everyone knew about his true face. Everyone feared it. 

They stopped at a cross walk. Rorschach cleared his throat once more. This time one of the females looked and her eyes widened.

“Whoa, that’s a cool mask! How did you get it to move like that?”

Rorschach growled deep in his throat, “Why are you out? Dangerous in city. Veidt sent squid here to stop war. Killed millions. He did that. Adrian Veidt. With so much destroyed, pandemonium in city. Have you heard of it?”

The group stared blankly at him. One of the males laughed.

“Uh, yeah, mister. We heard of it. It was just a prank, though.”

“No, it was a social experiment,” added a female.

“Yeah, a social experiment. No one really died. Veidt just wanted to get more views.”

Rorschach tilted his head, “Views?”

“Yeah, on Youtube, you know? Gotta get them subs.”

The rest of the group chuckled.

“Subs? Youtube? What is this?” a burst of wind hit Rorschach’s back. Nothing like the cold in Antarctica, but still bothersome.

“It’s like – holy shit, man!” the male covered his mouth and nose with his hand. His friends did the same. One of them fished some money out of his pocket and threw it at Rorschach.

“Buy some soap or something, asshole. God!” The group crossed the street. A few of them glanced back at him. Rorschach stuffed the money in an inside pocket and continued on. The young people did not seem to recognize him. Surely they would not have been so cavalier if they did. They would not have remarked on his face the way they did if they knew him.

What were subs? And views? And Youtube? He needed to find someone else. Question them. See if they recognized him.

He saw a crowded building on the corner of the street. Burly’s Bar and Grill, the sign read. There would be plenty of scum there to give him answers, no doubt. Something gave him pause, though. About halfway between where he stood and where the bar stood was a billboard. It glowed faintly, like that odd tablet-thing he found in that apartment.

On it was a disturbing image. Two men, with piercings all over their ears and lips and noses, with one of them wearing what looked to be women’s clothing, pressed their faces together in a kiss. “Love is love,” the bottom read. Rorschach’s stomach turned. He looked down and gagged. When he looked back up… the billboard had changed to show a woman in scimpy clothing. “Victoria’s Secret,” it said. Rorschach growled. Then it shifted again to show a massive hamburger. The McDonald’s symbol he recognized at least. He ducked his head and continued walking as his stomach growled again. Lust, gluttony, homosexuality… this was not the city he knew. That city painted itself as looking clean and righteous and lovely when inside it was rotting and blackened. This city proudly painted itself in its filth as if it was beautiful. He crossed the street and entered the bar.

It was a massive building, rather dark and very crowded. Some people glanced at him, some stared, some leaned over to their friends and whispered things about him, but most did not notice him. Those that did were not scared, just… confused. He walked deeper into the building. People veered around him; his smell probably put them off, which was useful. At least he did not stink of marijuana and alcohol and depravity.

He stopped in his tracks when a young woman pointed a small tablet with a bright light shining from it at him. She was sitting on a tall stool at a tall table, and was only a few feet away, so the light shone right in his face. He grunted and blinked hard a few times.

“What’s that?” he gestured to the thing.

“Oh, it’s a Samsung. I’m sorry for recording, I know lots of people dress… unconventionally in New York, but I’ve never seen a mask like that – hey wait, don’t go! How’d you make it? I’ll delete the video.”

“Not mask. Face,” he stalked past her, ignoring her muttering about his smell. There was a quiet, dark nook and a bar counter with only a few people. With a rusty door with an exit sign over it. He would begin his investigation there.

He hovered in between two people nursing their drinks. The one on his left wrinkled his nose and shuffled away. Rorschach noted his appearance, but as he seemed to be doing nothing criminal, he let him go. The other man, older, frowned up at Rorschach.

“Uh… can I help you?”

“Why does no one care about Armageddon?”

“Pardon?”

“Veidt’s monster. How long since squid was transported here? Months?”

“Mister, I’m sorry, but I have no goddamn clue what you’re talking about. You want a cough drop or something? Your voice sounds a little… scratchy.”

Rorschach thought. If he did not know about Veidt’s attack, perhaps Manhattan sent him back in time. But everything was so different… the clothes, the changing billboard, the odd tablets, the YouTube, and how no one knew who he was. No one feared him.

“Year?” he barked.

“Excuse me?”

“What’s the year?”

“2019?”

Rorschach clenched his fists. So Manhattan sent him forward in time. Made sense. Perhaps after Veidt made peace he decided to erase the incident from history, as well as everyone else. No wonder no one knew what Rorschach was talking about. A scuffle pulled Rorschach from his thoughts.

To his right, three men reeking of alcohol were manhandling a young woman. She was pale and flabby and had hardly any clothes on. The slut reminded him of his mother. He grunted in disgust… but she was young, hardly past childhood. The old man next to him wheeled over in his seat and stood up.

“Hey, leave her alone!” he called. One of the delinquents stalked over to them. He shoved the old man into the table and glared at Rorschach.

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Rorschach growled. The delinquent laughed and turned back to his friends, who were dragging the whore to the alley outside. Immediately he looked around, shoved the old man out of the way, shattered the end of the bottle against the counter and made sure the scissors were still in his pocket.

Then he tore open the door. The three delinquents were on the other side of the narrow alley; one of them had the girl pinned to the wall while the other two were trying to tear off what little clothes she had. He felt his face grow warm, and his insides boiled. His grip tightened on the bottle before he slammed it into the temple of the nearest delinquent. He jerked sideways and fell to the ground. The others stared at him, wide-eyed. He used their shock to his advantage and charged forward. The broken end of the bottle sank into the gut one of the others, but the two managed to land a few blows on his face. He staggered backwards but managed to right himself. He took out his scissors and jabbed them into one of their throats. The other one kicked him on the side of his knee. He let go of the one with the scissors lodged in his throat and threw himself onto the last one.

The delinquent screamed like a shrill little girl. Rorschach growled like a feral creature as he pounded his fists into the dog’s face, his throat, his diaphragm – a kick to the gut, a knee to the groin, and then he picked up the broken bottle and finished him off with a slash to the throat. Blood burst out like an oil mine. Rorschach stood up, ignoring the burning in his ankle and the bruises forming on his leg and his face. He stomped on the throat of the first one just to ensure he was dead, then ripped the scissors out of the other one’s throat.

Meanwhile, the whore had been whimpering, pressing herself against the wall as if that would make her invisible.

“I-I think you killed them.”

He gestured to the door.

“Go back. Dangerous outside. And wear more clothes.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and limped out of the alley. His stomach growled.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit longer than the first chapter, but there's a huge shift in POV halfway through that I think ya'll would like. Thank you so much to those who have given kudos/bookmarked, and everyone who has read it so far. I appreciate it! Please if you can, leave a comment, whether criticism or praise, I'd appreciate any of it. Thanks again, and enjoy! :)

Rorschach recalled the billboard advertising McDonald's and his mouth watered. He still had the two twenty-dollar bills in his pocket. A few minutes later, he made it onto a new block with a McDonald's in view. He glanced down at his clothes -- the blood stain from the dogs on his coat was not very obvious, it had dried to almost match the brown of his coat -- and trudged onward.

The restaurant was fairly crowded for it being so late at night; it was especially strange since most of the patrons were children. Still Rorschach brushed past them and sidled up to the counter. It was too bright and loud, and the menu had too many items on it and faintly glowed like the billboard he had seen previously, but the smell of food made his stomach roar.

A scrawny man appeared by his side, pulling a wallet out of his pocket before giving him a double-take and wrinkling his nose.

"What the fuck, man! Take a shower!"

Rorschach ignored the man, but he persisted.

"Hey, you just gonna let him stay here? Look at what he's wearing! He's a lunatic, obviously."

The employee -- a girl with too much makeup and countless metal studs and rings in her face -- shrugged sheepishly and murmured something.

"God, just-- just get out, man. I'm not even hungry anymore. And what the hell's with that mask? Are you some sort of cosplayer or something? Are you a fuckin' weeb?"

Rorschach tilted his head. The man had taken to making references beyond his knowledge. He was cut off from his tirade, though, by another girl sitting at a nearby table.

"Hey, why don't you quit being a dick?" she called.

Rorschach glanced at her -- she was tall and thin with darkish skin and was wearing men's clothing -- probably a dyke, then. Sitting with her were two boys: one very lean and one very fat. The man next to him huffed.

"Where's your manager? I'm gonna see a manager about this."

Rorschach tuned him out after that and gazed up at the menu. He looked back at the girl behind the counter and coughed.

"Uh, sir?" she asked, "I don't think I'm allowed to serve you. It's a dumbass policy, but we're not allowed to give food to people who are upsetting other customers."

"Okay," that was the dyke, "That's bullshit. He's literally doing nothing wrong. He just walked in here!"

The two boys with her nodded vigorously. Then she turned to Rorschach. "Mister, there's no use staying here. Everyone's being a dick right now. There's a building across the street with some steps you can sit on. If you hang out there, my friends and I will get you some food and come meet you in a few minutes."

Rorschach considered this. None of them seemed very threatening. Despite his injury, he could probably take all three of them in a fight, especially with his scissors. They most likely wouldn't poison the food -- from time constraints to motive, it made no sense why they would.

Sure, the dyke was condescending but at least he would get food. And he would NOT let her give it to him for free. He nodded once and exited the restaurant just as the scrawny man dragged the manager over.

"Ex-excuse me? Sir, you're not allowed here."

Rorschach ignored him while the dyke snapped that he was just leaving. It had gotten colder outside in just the few minutes he had been inside. He ignored it just as he ignored the pain radiating from his ankle to his knee and crossed the near-empty street. He clutched the scissors as he examined the alleys near the building to ensure no one was hiding, waiting to attack, then conceded to sitting down on the third step. If he had to, he could spring up quite quickly, even despite his injury. He stared at the restaurant across the street and began counting. If the dyke did not come in twenty-five seconds, he would continue on.

She did come, though, and brought her friends with her. She gave him a huge, fake smile and waved a bag full of food near him. The three plopped beside him on the steps. 

"I didn't know what you wanted, so I got a Big Mac and some nuggets. And a coke and a water. Not sure if you're into soda or not." Rorschach grabbed the bag and squinted at the receipt. $21.73.   
Damn. He thrust the two twenties in her face and let go of them before he could be sure she'd grab them, then dug into the bag of food.

+++

Peter stared at his fries. He no longer felt like eating.

"You okay?" Ned asked.

"Yeah. It's just that guy, he-- God, this is so mean, but... he smells so bad."

Ned nodded solemnly, "I know, right?" then lowered his voice, "And I'll bet it's worse for you with your super senses."

Peter sighed and nodded, then took a tentative sip of his Pepsi. Soon MJ came back to their table with a good amount of food and looked at them expectantly.

"Come on, guys. We're gonna have dinner with him."

Peter stifled a sigh as he and Ned followed MJ out of the building and across the street. The guy was staring at them – at least, it looked like he was -- completely motionless except for the swirly black patterns on his mask. It was creepy.

MJ sat right next to the guy -- how she could ignore the smell, Peter had no clue. Ned sat on the other side of MJ a few feet away. Peter wanted to sit a few feet from Ned so he wouldn't be at risk of throwing up, but he didn't want MJ to be so close to this guy. He was obviously mentally ill, and pretty shady, and Peter needed to make sure he didn't hurt her. So he sat on the other side of the guy. As discretely as he could he covered his nose. Once or twice he even had to swallow his throw-up.

"--I don't know if soda is your thing or not," MJ was explaining to the hobo what she got for him. He snatched the bag from her immediately. Peter could guess he must've been hungry. But he stared at the bag closely. Only after he took out some money and threw it at MJ did Peter realize he was looking at the receipt. Then he rolled his mask halfway up his face.

He had red and gray stubble all over his jaw and chin, which was also swollen and bruised in places. There was some dried blood crusted on his nose which he didn’t seem to care about. Poor guy must’ve been in a bad fight. His lips were chapped. His teeth were yellow and crooked and chipped. And his breath... It was like a combination of an old salami sandwich, the Dumpster behind his apartment building, and that mildew-y history textbook he was forced to use in junior high. Peter turned away and hid his gagging with a cough. He slurped the last of his Pepsi and turned around just in time to see the guy eating.

And boy, could he eat. He stuffed a nugget into his mouth, chewed maybe three times, then swallowed. It was a wet, strained sound. He finished the nuggets in about twenty seconds and pounced on the burger. It was like a car crash -- absolutely disturbing, but Peter just couldn't look away. He vaguely noticed Ned gliding into his vision by slowly leaning forward with his face twisted in a horrified expression.

After devouring half the burger, with sauce and lettuce stuck to his face, he tossed it back into the box and downed his soda.

"Hey, wait," MJ said.

The guy stopped right away and looked at her.

"You seem like you're eating too fast. You might get sick afterwards. Maybe slow down a little?"

The guy grunted.

"Also, I really don't need this," MJ presented him the money -- forty dollars, it looked like, "This is yours."

The man suddenly straightened like his spine was replaced with a yardstick.

"Don't need charity," he growled.

"Whoa, deep voice," Peter mumbled before he could stop himself. It wasn't just that, though. It sounded like this guy gargled whiskey every day, then broke the bottle into a million pieces and ate it for breakfast before he started his four-hour chain-smoking session.

"I'm not trying to be a charity, Mister. I'm just trying to do something nice. And I really would rather you kept your money. Not for your sake, but for my sake."

"No. Don't need charity from dyke."

"Whoa," Ned said.

"Whoa," Peter said, just to emphasize.

MJ's face reddened. An angry smile spread over her face, "Okay, that was not a very kind thing to say."

"Keep the money."

"I'm not keeping the money. And by the way, I'm not a lesbian. And even if I was, it shouldn't matter. And you shouldn't call people dykes."

The guy tilted his head, "Why wear men's clothing if you’re not a dyke?"

"Stop saying dyke!"

The man grumbled something and finished his Coke with a loud, grating slurping noise.

"Look, calling people dykes these days is normally really offensive. My name's MJ, okay? And this is Ned, and that's Peter. What's your name?"

"Rorschach."

MJ frowned, “What?”

“Rorschach,” he repeated a tad more forcefully.

"Oh, are you like a superhero, like Spider-Man?" Ned asked, "With a secret identity and stuff? I mean, you’ve got the mask.”

Peter gave Ned a warning look.

Rorschach stuffed the last half of his burger into his trench coat, without even putting it in the container or wrapping it up. At least with the fries he kept them in their package.

"No. Real name is Rorschach."

"Oh..."

He stood up with a slight grunt, rolled his mask down, and threw his trash into a nearby Dumpster. Then he turned to the three of them.

"Thank you for food. Apologies for... for offending. Was not intended."

He limped off.

"Wait!" MJ called. She stood up.

"Wait! Your money!"

Rorschach ignored her. She turned to Peter and Ned.

"Guys, we gotta give him his money back."

“I dunno, MJ,” Ned said, “He doesn’t seem to want it back.”

“But he sure as hell needs it. We should at least give him one of the twenties.”

“You sure that’s a good idea? What if he gets mad and tries to attack us?” Peter asked.

MJ gave him a pointed look, “Uh, have you forgotten who you are?”

“I don’t wanna beat up a crazy homeless man!” Peter whispered.

MJ ignored his protests and followed Rorschach. She paused to glare at them.

“You guys coming?”

“I’m good here,” Ned said, “I’ll have an ambulance on speed dial. Just shout if you need it.”

“I’m good here, too,” Peter muttered as he trudged after her.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while. Things have been very busy these past few months. Doesn't help that my laptop broke... Sorry for the hopelessly long stretch without updating, guys. I'm just going to put all the rest of the chapters I have down so far here today. I fully intend to continue writing and updating this story. And I guess I'll have a bit of extra time to work on it considering everything being shut down from a certain virus. I'll just have to get up earlier to work on it on the desktop instead of on my laptop.

Idiot. He was supposed to ask the children questions. About Manhattan, about Veidt, about what happened forty years ago in their time. But all he did was stuff his gullet and run.

It would have been easier had that dyke not lectured him and insisted on giving him the money back. The main reason he left was so she wouldn’t give him the money. Still, he had an objective and he failed to meet it. His stomach gurgled. Perhaps the dyke was right. He should not have eaten so fast.

“Hey! Rorschach, wait up!”

Speak of the devil. He continued hobbling, but she and the lean one caught up to him. They stood beneath a street light. The fat one was still on the steps, looking in their direction.

“Look, I get it,” MJ said, “You have your pride, you don’t want someone paying for your meals. But at least take one twenty back. I mean, you paid me way extra.”

“Meal cost over twenty dollars. Have no change. Keep both bills.”

“Wow, you are so stubborn. Guess what, I’m stubborn too. And I’m not gonna stop bugging you until you take at least some of the money back.”

Rorschach considered whipping out the scissors and waving them threateningly in her face. Instead he settled for making a growling noise from deep in his throat. The lean one stepped between both of them.

“Look, man, just take the twenty. Seriously, you’re making this a lot more difficult than it needs to be.”

Rorschach was about to turn on his heel and leave when an idea popped into his head.

“I take twenty dollars if you answer some questions.”

The lean one glanced at the dyke, then back at his corpulent friend.

“Uh, sure. Yeah.”

“What do you know about Manhattan?”

The children glanced at each other, frowning.

“Uh, well I haven’t been there a ton. I live in Queens.”

Rorschach shook his head, “Doctor Manhattan. Jon Osterman. Or liberal education keep history from you?”

“We’ve, ah... never heard of Doctor Manhattan,” the dyke said.

“Hurm… How about Adrian Veidt? Ozymandias.”

“We read a poem about Ozymandias in Lit a month ago,” the boy offered.

“Never heard of Veidt?”

“No. Sorry…”

“Met other children who have heard of him. Said he pulled prank for... views and subs. Clearly given a distorted education. But they’ve heard of Veidt.”

“We’ve never heard of anyone named Veidt, Rorschach,” the boy said.

“Nor Manhattan?”

“Nope.”

“Nor catastrophe that happened in 1985? With the psychic squid?”

The dyke looked concerned. The lean one looked at the ground.

“Of no use then,” Rorschach started to leave, but the dyke put her hand on his shoulder. His whole body stiffened.

“Well, we could look it up if you want. Peter, look up those people’s names.”

The lean one pulled out a small tablet, similar to the one the woman at the bar shoved in his face, and tapped the screen.

“How do you spell Veidt?”

“V-E-I-D-T.”

“Okay, thanks. Uh… I can’t find anything. See?”

The boy held the screen close to Rorschach’s face. 

"Let me search Doctor Manhattan.”

Rorschach leaned forward.

“Yeah, sorry, Mister Rorschach. I can’t find anything.”

“What did you do on tablet?”

“I just searched their names on the Internet. You can search people on there and they normally pop up."

“Hey, here’s your money,” she held the twenty right in front of his face. He snatched it and limped away.

“You shouldn’t have touched him, MJ. You freaked him out,” the lean one whispered loudly.

“I wanted to make sure he got his money back.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is definitely more interesting than the last one.

Peter felt a cold breeze hit his face. It was nearly three in the morning, and it looked like rain. He had called Mr. Stark and Happy four times each. They must’ve been busy, because neither answered. This Rorschach guy might have just been some random hobo spouting nonsense, but Peter had a funny feeling there was something more to him than that. It was probably the mask. And his smell – there was something familiar about it that he couldn’t place until long after Ned’s grandma picked him up and he walked MJ home. Beneath the stench of sweat and BO and dirt and gasoline and mud and garbage and… well, thirty or so other unpleasant things, there was a faint coppery metallic scent. Old blood. This guy must’ve taken a lot of beatings.

And not just the bloody nose -- when they stood under the street light, Peter could just make out the outline of a maroon stain on the guy’s old trench coat. Most homeless people don’t fight enough to bleed all over like that, right? To get a good liter of blood on their trench coat and then recover, most likely without a hospital. And that was another thing. Where the heck could a poor homeless guy get such fancy vintage clothes? Sure they were worn and nasty, but still. Ned would know more about them than he did, but he was pretty sure those things weren’t exactly cheap. And that mask was fascinating. What was it made of?

That might not have meant anything at all, but there was just… some sense Peter had that made him feel the need to get Mr. Stark involved. So he told May good night and half an hour later he was swinging through the city. Maybe he could track Rorschach down. He was just about the smelliest person Peter ever met, so hopefully he could pull a page out of the Wolverine’s book and track him by scent.

He was mid-swing when he heard his phone ring. He nearly fell off his web trying to grab it. He managed to get to the top of a small building to answer.

“Hello?”

“This better be good, kid. I was actually trying to sleep.”

“Sorry, Mister Stark. It’s just there was this guy that I met at McDonald’s, and he had a mask on and I think he had blood all over his coat. I’m thinking maybe he’s trying to be a superhero or maybe villain and I’m trying to track him down now, but I just wanted to let you know in case he’s part of something bigger or ends up being dangerous or –”

“Slow down, Spidey. Please. You met this guy at McDonald’s?”

“Yeah. Not as Spider-Man though. I was just eating dinner and he walked in, mask and all. Said his name was Rorschach. Like the Rorschach ink tests. That’s what his mask looked like. I think he wanted food, but he got kicked out because he smelled bad, and—”

“Kid, I really don’t think this is super important. Is he dangerous? Did he commit any crimes?”

“Well, not really—”

“Then it’s fine. It’s probably just some vagrant.”

“But there’s something about him, Mr. Stark. His mask!”

“A Rorschach ink blot mask?”

“Yeah! The black was moving on its own!”

“That’s not exactly a technological marvel, kid. He probably stole it from Goodwill or something. It was probably part of some Halloween costume.

“But—"

“If you run across him doing anything dangerous, let me know.”

“But he was talking about someone. Veidt, I think. Anton Veidt? And a Doctor Manhattan. And a squid monster from 1985. Was there something that happened in ’85?”

“Yes, absolutely. Our friend had a very bad trip that he hasn’t gotten over. Good night, kid.”

“But—”

“I’ll look into a Doctor Manhattan and an Anton Veidt, okay? Only because you have that spider-intuition or whatever. Now good night, Spider-Man.”

“…ahh, okay. Good night, Mister Stark.”

He sighed and looked around. During the phone call it had started to pour, and Peter was getting soaked. He took a running leap and started swinging. After a few blocks, though, a certain black and white mask caught his eye. He backtracked and landed lightly on the rim of an open Dumpster. The smell wafting from it stung his eyes, but he tried his best to ignore it as he approached Rorschach.

He was curled up on the ground in the corner of the alley, leaning against the fence behind him and the brick wall beside him. From his slow breathing and the way the black swirlies were moving slower than they did before, Peter figured he was asleep. He felt bad for the guy – sleeping on the hard, filthy ground behind a nasty Dumpster in the pouring rain. There was a bus stop just across the street with a covered bench, but Peter figured that the sort of man who asked about giant squids with such gravity was probably the sort of man who distrusted bus stops.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He knew that whole thing about staying in the rain would make you catch cold was a myth, but when he woke up he could slip on all the motor oil and water. He was limping pretty bad. And despite Mr. Stark's beliefs, Peter still thought there was something more to this guy.

He glanced up and saw a platform for a fire escape. He ran up the wall and crouched on the railing before taking out his phone to call Mr. Stark. With all the rain, Peter would be impressed if Rorschach would hear them.

“What is it now?”

“Mister Stark,” Peter whispered, “I found him. He’s sleeping in an alley. You want me to send you a picture?”

“You want to take a picture of a mentally ill homeless man without his consent while he sleeps and then send it to your boss?”

“He’s—he’s more than that, Mister Stark. I swear it. I can-I can feel it. Have you gotten anything about Veidt or  
Manhattan?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“Oh. You sure? Did you really check?”

“Pretty sure. And of course I checked. How about you buy him a blanket or something and then leave him alone?”

“But he doesn’t like it when people buy him stuff!”

Rorschach’s breathing stopped. Peter felt a stab of fear.

Omigod please don’t be de—

The man jerked his head back and forth, but Peter still couldn’t hear him breathe. He was holding his breath, then.

“He’s awake,” Peter whispered. He tipped backwards, silently landing on the platform of the fire escape and rolling into a standing position. In that short time, Rorschach managed to get onto his feet, although he still leaned against the wall. His breaths were harsh and quick.

“Mr. Stark, I gotta go.”

“Kid, don’t do anything dumb. If this guys a real threat, get out of there and I’ll handle it.”

“Okay—oh crap.”

The man had caught sight of Peter. He was motionless, except for his mask. The black was swirling angrily like the storm clouds up above.

“What? What is it?”

“He sees me. Gotta go. Bye.”

Before Mr. Stark could say anything, Peter ended the call and lept from the fire escape to the alley below.

“Hey – I mean,” Peter tried to deepen his voice, “Hey.”

Rorschach tilted his head a micrometer.

“Look, I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m just wondering who you are, and what you can do.”

Rorschach glanced in the direction of the fire escape then looked back at Peter.

“Wondering same about you.”

The man shifted his weight, so he stood straight instead of against the wall. That scent of blood was fainter than before – must have been the rain – but it was still there. So was the faint stain on the guy’s coat. The black swirlies were swirlier than ever. Peter felt a twinge in his gut. This guy was definitely more than a crazy dirty homeless man.  
Still, Peter wasn’t ready to fight him.

“You don’t know? I’m Spider-Man.”

“A mask?”

“A-a what? A… oh yes!” Peter’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat, “Yes. I’m a mask. Are you? And, uh, what’s your name?”

“Yes. Rorschach. Do you know Doctor Manhattan?”

“Actually, no. I don’t. Who’s he?”

“Other mask. Dangerous. What’s worse – indifferent to the plights of man. Has powers of a god but uses them for own selfish desires.”

“What kind of powers?”

Before Rorschach could answer, Peter heard a scream cut through the air. Apparently Rorschach heard it too, because he flinched and reached into his coat to grab something. Peter wasn’t sure what it was, but that feeling intensified.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Peter jumped onto the fire escape and swung in the direction of the scream.


	5. Chapter Five

Idiot. Had that mask wanted, he could have attacked and Rorschach would have been at a disadvantage. Even more of a disadvantage than he already was, what with his injury.

He had planned on resting his ankle for a few minutes. He could feel it swelling and worried that he wouldn’t be able to take off his boot without cutting it. He didn’t even mean to fall asleep. Rorschach was not supposed to give in to those desires. He was above such weakness. It would not happen again.

And Rorschach would not “stay here.”

He ripped the scissors out of his jacket pocket and limped towards where the masked child had gone. Clearly it was a child behind the mask. The way his voice shook and cracked made it obvious. Even with his clear physical enhancements, Rorschach seriously doubted he would properly take care of whoever was causing a woman to scream.

Speaking of physical enhancements, were those from his costume or from actual powers? Were there now others besides Manhattan who had abilities beyond that of a normal human? Or perhaps the mask simply had abilities matching Veidt’s. How such a young, uncertain person, mask or no, could train his body to levels matching Ozymandias, Rorschach didn’t know. He’d continue questioning him after they resolved the screaming.

Rorschach had to grit his teeth to keep from yelping at the pain searing his ankle and tearing up his leg. He focused on the screams of the woman, which got louder as he exited the alley and approached the bus stop across the street. He could just make out some commotion from behind the bench. He picked up his speed.

Rorschach heard scuffling, punching, and grunting all crescendo and then die down as he arrived at the stop. He slipped his scissors back into his coat, and he peered behind the stop to see the mask, a man writhing on the ground in pain, and a young woman.

“Thank you, Spider-Man!” the woman’s face radiated excitement until she caught sight of Rorschach. She backed up until she ran into the mask, who ushered her behind him.

“Don’t worry, miss. He won’t hurt you. Right, Rorschach?”

Rorschach grunted and edged around the other two to get a better look at the man on the ground. His face was already swelling, but he seemed largely unharmed. Not one of his limbs was bent at an odd angle. This mask really was inexperienced.

A flash of lightning cracked through the air, and Rorschach caught a glimpse of something white and glossy covering the man’s right hand.

“I was walking home from work and he just stepped out of the alley and told me to take off my clothes," the woman said.

Rorschach recoiled.

“Don’t worry. He’s not gonna hurt you, either. I’ll call the police and stay here until they arrive.”

The woman glanced at Rorschach, sniffed, and looked down.

“Actually, I really do need to get home. My grandma broke her hip last week, and I have to check up on her.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The mask looked from Rorschach to the woman to the man and back to Rorschach.

“Miss, if you could step away from the guy. My… my associate and I have to talk.”

"Oh... um, okay."

He gestured for Rorschach to step back a little. Away from the woman. He lowered his voice.

“Okay, I’m gonna escort her home. Could you please stay put this time? Just sit on the bench and on the way there I’ll call the police, and by the time I come back with her contact info, they’ll be here and I’ll explain you’re not an issue, and then we’ll talk. It’ll only take a few minutes, I promise.”

“Bring in police?” Rorschach growled.

“Yeah… the police. I can’t just leave him here on the ground.”

Rorschach shoved his hands in his pockets hard and stood straighter. The mask ran a hand over his head and huffed.

“Okay, how about you make sure he doesn’t escape, and I’ll just take him to the cops after I bring the lady home? Just… just please don’t try and talk to the guy. He won’t be able to get out of that webbing, but if you get too close he still could be dangerous.”

“Hrrm…”

“Thanks, man.”

The mask clapped him on the shoulder. Rorschach jerked backwards. Had he not been injured, had he known just what the other mask could do, he would have told him going to the police was foolish. This dog would learn nothing from fiddling his thumbs in a cushy prison, no remorse, no punishment for his actions.

But Rorschach knew it would be best to hold his tongue. For some reason, the mask changed his mind. The child was leaving him with a golden opportunity to properly dispose of this scum. He leaned against the bus stop and waited for them to leave, keeping close watch on the criminal. The mask and the woman started walking; Rorschach waited until they turned the block. Now. He would have to act fast.

“Hey, uh... mister! Mister, you have to get me out of here!”

He tugged on the webbing holding his right hand down. Another flash of lightning, and Rorschach noticed a gun across the sidewalk.

“Look, man. That lady was exaggerating, okay? I wasn’t telling her to take her clothes off, I was flirting. Then she started screaming like a little bi-- I mean, she just started screaming for no reason, and Spider-Man came out of no where. I had to defend myself. That’s why I got the gun out.”

Rorschach clenched his fists.

“You get it, don’t you? Maybe I was being forward with her, but that’s no reason for the girl to start screaming her head off, right? I haven’t gotten any in a while, is all. Come on, you know how that is, right?”

Rorschach took a step towards him.

“I mean, I’m not saying it’s been a while for you, I mean, I don’t know. But you know what it’s like, right? I mean, every guy has a dry spell sometimes and it makes us do some— hey, man, thanks.”

Rorschach had gone to the man’s right side and took out some scissors.

“Thanks. I knew you’d get it.”

The man glanced at the gun several yards away from him, a hungry glint in his eye.

“You’re a real – wai--- AAAAAAAGGHHH. AAH—AAAAAAAGGGH!!”

Now.

Now. He needed a taxi. Strangely, he saw few of them driving by the few hours he had been here. But he would have to find one if he wanted to get ahead of the mask. He doubted the child would be overjoyed at Rorschach’s solution to trash. He directed his gaze towards the weapon on the ground.

Rorschach normally didn’t use guns, but he was in unfamiliar territory. And clearly, scum was everywhere. He would need as much protection as he could get.


	6. Chapter Six

So the lady’s name was Julie Everts, and she really did live close by.

“You don’t need to come up to my apartment, Spider-Man. The building’s pretty safe. And if the police need to talk, you can just point them over here and I’ll tell them. I’m the only Julie in my building.”

“Okay, sounds good. You sure you don’t need anything else?"

“Oh no, I’m good. Thank you so much for helping me out. I’ll try and call an Uber or something next time I work late.”

“Sounds like a plan. Anyway, have a good night. And I hope your grandma heals up quick!”

“Thanks! You have a good one, too!”

With that, he swung away. It was a much quicker trip by web. The rain was even letting up. Sure, he could’ve probably carried Julie and swung on buildings, but he’d never done something like that before and didn’t want to drop her. Not to mention most people would probably be freaked out.

And also she looked like she was in her thirties, and it would’ve just felt weird…

Anyway, it went by fast. Which was good. All the way there and back he grew more and more nervous that something would go wrong. It was clear Rorschach was favoring his left leg, and it seemed to get worse the more he was on it.  
If criminal man managed to get loose of the webbing… well, Rorschach would probably have trouble running away.

Hopefully Rorschach did as he was told this time and just sat on the bench without provoking criminal ma—

Sirens. There were sirens piercing the air and Peter didn’t know why. Well, he knew why. There were two cop cars at his bus stop. He couldn’t find Rorschach, though. Did the man call the police and duck out?

It was clear he didn’t like the cops. The way he tensed up when Peter mentioned them was why Peter relented and said he’d bring criminal man to them instead of just calling them like he’d normally do. Despite being injured and out of it, Rorschach seemed to be a slippery guy. Peter didn’t want to just lose him.

Anyway, he landed quietly in the middle of the street and walked up to three cops standing around behind the bus stop. He saw some blood droplets on the sidewalk, and a feeling of dread formed in his gut. Then he reached the bus stop.

The smell hit him first. It was like a warm, coppery mist had slapped him in the face and coated the inside of his nose, his mouth, his throat… He held in a gag.

Then the voices of the cops registered.

“Spider-Man, you know what happened here?”

“Go home, bud. This one’s not for—”

“—a little above your pay grade, Spidey. Go pull a cat out of a tree and leave this to--”

“Any reason why you tied this guy up, Spidey?”

"--have something to do with this one?"

It was weird, because light travels fastest, so the sight should’ve been the first to register. It wasn’t though. Peter saw it, sure. But he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He’d seen Criminal Minds. He’d seen gross crime scenes on TV and YouTube and once there was this True Crime museum exhibit... And he held his uncle in his arms and could feel the life drain out of him. But—but good. God.

Good God, this was so much worse. He couldn’t recognize the guy. He was looking at someone who was alive once. Someone who once had an in-tact face. The man he punched and tied to the sidewalk.

With Ben, it was like he fell asleep. He had closed his eyes before he passed, so up until then Peter had been looking into the eyes of his uncle. Not a corpse.

No one could look into the man’s eyes. They were gone.

There was just clearish jelly, some bits of gray, and lots of blood. Some of it was thick already, like pudding. Some of it was still runny. There was a pool of it around the man’s head mixed with rain water. The sides of his hair was matted with globs of blood.

It wasn’t just his eyes that were missing. The top half of the man’s face was mangled beyond recognition. The bridge of his nose was destroyed. Much of the skin on his forehead was slit open.

The bottom half of his face was soaked in rain and colored with flecks of blood. And his mouth was gaping open, sort of twisted. There was a strand of saliva hanging from the roof of his mouth. It swung back and forth with the wind.

When the sight registered, Peter’s whole body jolted, and he could no longer keep down his dinner.


End file.
